


What Do You Give The Spy Who Has Everything?

by Keziah



Series: This Isn't Normal, Is It? [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keziah/pseuds/Keziah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's winter vacations at Fitzhugh Quinnell and, for once, Gen has somewhere to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Adventures?

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant through most of season 4. However, in this universe, Samaritan was destroyed and Shaw rescued during the season 4 finale (roughly nine months before this story takes place).

Shaw walked briskly up the school steps. She stepped through the main doors and looked around. A gentle flow of students parted around her as she looked for any indication of where she was supposed to go. She grabbed a kid’s arm as he ran past. “Where’s the office?”

He pointed down the hall. “Turn left. There’s a big sign.”

Shaw grunted her thanks and moved in the direction he pointed. Pushing open the door marked _Administration_ , she was greeted by a cheery, “Welcome to Fitzhugh Quinnell Preparatory School! How can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a student for vacation.” Shaw said.

“Name?”

Shaw frowned. “Mine or hers?”

The secretary laughed. “Hers.”

“Genrika Zhirova.”

“All right. And yours?”

Shaw tapped her earpiece while brushing her hair behind her ear. “Sam.” she said, hoping Harold had picked an alias that could have that nickname.

The woman nodded, clicking on her computer.

Shaw shifted to the side and hissed. “Harold. What’s. My. Alias.”

“Oh!” Harold’s voice urgently sounded in her ear. “I put you on the paperwork as Sameen Gray, and I am on as Harold Wren. You do have that ID on you?”

Shaw’s response was to firmly tap the earpiece off.

The woman (Annie, or so her nametag said) looked up, her brow ever so slightly creased. “Sam?”

“Yeah. Sam Gray.” Shaw said. “Harold said he put me on the paperwork?”

Annie’s face cleared. “Ah, yes. There are two potential ‘Sams’ on the paperwork, so you understand my confusion. Can I see some ID?”

Shaw pulled her wallet out of her pocket, shuffled through the IDs inside, and found Sameen Gray at the bottom. She hadn’t used that alias in at least a year.

As she handed it over, she leaned on the counter. “Uh, the other Sam on the files. It wouldn’t be Samantha Groves, would it?”

“Yes, actually! Do you know her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know her.” The corner of Shaw’s mouth twitched.  Annie fussed with the printer. She placed the papers on the counter in front of Shaw and handed her a pen. “Sign here and here. Take these papers to the dorms and her housemother will help you with the rest.”

Shaw nodded. “Where are the dorms?”

“Just go to your right after you exit the main doors. Her building number is on the paperwork.”

Shaw glanced down at the papers in her hand. “Right. Thanks.”

 

The dorms were pretty easy to find. There was a small stream of other parents picking up kids. Shaw entered the foyer of the appropriate dorm and scanned the room. An older woman in a tweed suit was directing students and parents and collecting paperwork. Shaw eased her way through the crowd until she was standing in front of her. As soon as the woman looked at her, Shaw shoved the paperwork at her. The woman glanced down, reading Gen’s name across the top. “Oh, good! I wasn’t sure that Gen would be going anywhere this holiday. It’s good to spend the holidays with family, don’t you think?”

Shaw shrugged.

The woman smiled. “Well, I’ll get her right down. I’m not sure that she’s packed; I hope you don’t mind waiting.”

Shaw shook her head.

“Excellent! Lizzy!” The last shout was directed at a taller girl on the stairs, who turned and looked expectantly at the woman, who called up. “Tell Gen someone is here for her.” The woman turned back to Shaw. “I’m Beth Cooper, the housemother for this dorm.”

Shaw stuck out her hand. “Sam Gray.”

Ms. Cooper shook her hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you! I’ve never met any of Gen’s family before, not even her guardian. Are you family?”

Shaw stared at Ms. Cooper. “Uhhhhh. Close enough, I guess.”

Ms. Cooper looked like she was going to say something, but was interrupted by a cry from Gen. “Shaw!” Gen pelted down the stairs and threw her arms around Shaw. Shaw smiled faintly and hugged back. “Hey kiddo.”

Ms. Cooper looked at the two of them. “Shaw?”

“It’s a nickname.” Shaw hastily reassured her.

“Where are we going this time?” Gen asked.

Shaw looked at her. Gen had hit a growth spurt over the past few months and was now nearly as tall as Shaw was. “You’ll have to ask Harold that. He just told me to pick you up.”

Ms. Cooper interrupted. “You were the one who took her on summer vacations?”

“Yeah.”

“And Root.” Gen added.

At Ms. Cooper’s look of confusion, Shaw said. “The other Sam.”

Ms. Cooper looked down at the paperwork. “Ah, yes. That explains the nicknames, doesn’t it? Now then Gen, you go pack your bags, and I’ll go through the spiel with Ms. Gray here.”

Gen nodded and rushed back up the stairs.

Ms. Cooper turned to Shaw. “Genrika needs to be back in the dorms by six o’clock on January 3rd. She does have two assignments that will need to be completed before school begins on the 4th. While on vacations she is to refrain from alcohol, drugs, and getting into trouble. An arrest will be cause for immediate expulsion.”

Shaw kept her face neutrally blank. It was a good thing they had used Gen’s aliases last summer.

“I think we can manage that.” she said, in response to Ms. Cooper’s questioning look.

“Excellent.” Ms. Cooper beamed. “You would not believe the sort of stuff parents let their children do over the holidays.”

“Uh huh.” Shaw tried to nip the conversation in the bud.

Unfortunately, Ms. Cooper took that as encouragement. “Why just over the summer we had one of our students arrested for drunk driving! But I’m sure you’ll take good care of Gen. You had her all summer, and we didn’t hear a thing.”

Shaw grunted noncommittally.

Ms. Cooper continued to chatter on. “Gen wrote such a wonderful essay about her summer vacations. Her descriptions of the places you went were so vivid. And the adventures!”

“What adventures?” Shaw asked sharply.

Ms. Cooper drew her head back slightly. “Oh, meeting dignitaries, climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower and seeing Paris by night, driving a scooter in Rome.”

“Right.” Shaw relaxed.

“I guess that sort of thing isn’t really an adventure for you anymore, seeing as you travel with Mr. Wren so much, but for a child it’s quite exciting.”

“Right.” Shaw said again.

“Though,” Ms. Cooper added “driving a scooter in Rome? That’s hardly safe for a 13 year old.”

Shaw blinked. Better not get Gen in trouble. “Uh, yeah. I was on the scooter too, behind her. I just let her take the handlebars for a while. You know.” Never mind that Shaw had been shot in the arm and really had been in no condition to drive anywhere and Root had had to deal with taking their number home and blowing up the drug lab, so she couldn’t drive. And, of course, where they were no self-respecting cabbie would go. Gen had been the only choice and had done a spectacular job of it.

Shaw refocused on the conversation just to hear Ms. Cooper ask “What is it exactly that you do for Mr. Wren?”

Shaw’s eyebrows drew together. “Whatever he asks.”

“Of course.” Ms. Cooper glanced down at the paperwork again. “It says you are a stylist?” Her eyes roamed over Shaw’s combat boots, jeans, and heavy jacket.

“Yes.” Shaw replied shortly.

Shaw was saved by Gen sliding down the banister with her duffel slung across her back. “I’m ready!” She announced. “Bye, Ms. Cooper!”

“Have a good vacation!” Ms. Cooper replied. “Goodbye Ms. Gray. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Shaw nodded, and followed Gen out the door.

 

“Where are we going?” Gen asked as Shaw handed her a motorcycle helmet and strapped Gen’s duffel onto the back of the bike.

Shaw tapped her earpiece. “Harold?”

“Is everything all right, Ms. Shaw?”

“I’ve got Gen.”

“Oh, excellent. Could you bring her back to the subway? I’m afraid John needs your assistance. Gen can stay here until you are done and can take her home.”

“Okay.”

Shaw turned to Gen. “We’re headed to the subway. There’s something I need to do for Harold, then we can drop your stuff off at my place.”

“I’m staying with you?”

“You’re staying with me.”

“Cool.”

 

Shaw dropped Gen off at the entrance to the subway, driving off on the bike as soon as she saw Gen enter. As Harold heard the gate open, he spoke up. “I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Shaw. John is in pursuit of a number but unfortunately he is partnered with a regular cop and cannot act as he would usually. If you would go assist him, discreetly, please?”

“I’m not Shaw.” Gen smiled.

Harold spun around. “Oh! Hello, Miss Zhirova. Where is Ms. Shaw?”

“She said she had something to do for you.”

“Oh.” Harold tapped his phone. “Ms. Shaw?

. . . “Assist John discreetly. He has been partnered with a uniform and must act with caution. He is currently on 1st and 13th.”

. . . “Thank you, Ms. Shaw.”

Harold tapped off the connection.

“Another number, Harold?”

Harold turned back towards Gen, who had settled onto a desk and was swinging her legs. “Yes. Always another number.”

“Can I help?”

“I think we have this one under control.”

Gen nodded.

Harold paused. “Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw assure me you want to be a part of this, but I must warn you. This is a strenuous and lengthy commitment. You will receive no awards, no recognition; you will be hounded and hurt and yelled at. The numbers will likely never stop coming.”

“Well, sure, but with more people working the numbers, each person can have time off. Like any other job.”

“That could be the case, yes.”

“And I will be saving people.”

“Yes.”

“Like Shaw does.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything more important than that?”

Harold looked at her. She was straight faced, a bright expression in her eyes. He answered slowly. “I suppose not.”

“Besides, you get all the fun toys.”

Harold smiled. “Indeed. I can see that’s a compelling reason.”

“I’m basically already part of the team though. I mean, I helped with some numbers over summer break.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Harold looked at her, eyes wide.

Gen cocked her head. “Uh. They didn’t tell you about our trip?”

“No . . .”

Gen nodded, adding quickly. “So, this machine you built. The one Root worships? Tell me about it.”

Harold smiled. He opened one of the many drawers in his desk and pulled out a flat case. “Miss Zhirova, would you care to play a game of chess with me?"


	2. Don’t Go Crawling Around Vents Any More!

Shaw unlocked the numerous locks on her door, opened it, and flung out her arm, gesturing Gen inside.

Shaw grabbed Gen’s duffel and opened a door to one of the two bedrooms. “This is your room.”

“Thanks.”

Shaw tossed the duffel on the bed. “I’ll go start some dinner.”

Gen quickly unpacked her things. It didn’t take her long, and she was surprised to find there were already some clothes in the dresser and closet. She checked, and they were all her size. She joined Shaw in the kitchen. The kitchen was how Gen expected it. It was tidy, organized, and clean, with high quality tools that Shaw was expertly using to cook burgers.

Gen dug around in the fridge and began pulling out toppings.

“Where’s Root?”

“Chile.” Shaw answered. “Some non-profit organizer is in trouble. Or making trouble. She wasn’t exactly clear about it.”

 

After dinner, Gen explored the apartment in more detail. She knew Shaw pretty well, but homes always say so much about people. For example, there were paintings on the walls, and while Shaw had been appreciative of the architecture they’d seen in Europe, she hadn’t really shown much interest in the other types of art. There were two matching end tables beside the couch. Each held a handgun and a taser. In addition, one had gaming controllers piled in a basket underneath while the other had a wig stuffed in the drawer.

There was a desktop in the living room, hooked up to the TV. Gen turned them both on. The TV showed a number of camera feeds from around the building and across the city, while the desktop screen was in the process of running a long hack. There were also three laptops and a stereo scattered around the living room. Alarms and deadbolts (vertical of course) were on all entrances (even the vents) and bulletproof glass in the windows. After more inspection, Gen was pretty sure the insulation in the floor, walls, and ceiling had been augmented with soundproof foam and fiberglass panels. Not to mention the doors were a little too heavy to be your typical pressboard.

Wandering into the bathroom and unpacking her toiletries, Gen noticed makeup scattered across the counter that was far too bright for anything Shaw wore. Opening the cabinet, she realized the makeup was all over the counter because the cabinet was stuffed with medical supplies. Bandages and suter kits, painkillers and anesthetics, scalpels and forceps, whiskey and syringes. And a couple guns. Gen counted 17 guns in the apartment, not counting the ones in Shaw’s room. She didn’t dare go in there uninvited.

The locks and reinforcements and guns were what she had expected from Shaw. The tasers, the computers, and the makeup? Those were much more likely to belong to another team member.

 

The next morning, Gen confronted Shaw in the kitchen. Shaw was busy dumping ingredients into a bowl. Gen folded her arms and stared at Shaw until Shaw turned around and said “What.”

“You and Root live together.”

Shaw frowned. “No.”

“Then why is all her stuff here?”

“Because she needs someplace to keep it. Now get the milk for me.” Shaw turned back to her bowl, ending the conversation.

Gen raised an eyebrow at Shaw, but pulled the gallon out of the fridge (it was next to the Kel-Tec RFB Carbine), passing it to Shaw. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

 

Shaw consumed a truly impressive number of pancakes and Gen did her best to keep up. Shaw dumped her dishes in the sink and grabbed her jacket. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

“Really?” Gen eagerly pushed back her chair.

Shaw waved her phone. “New number.”

“Sweet!” Gen put her dishes in the sink as well and grabbed her bag, hustling out the door after Shaw.

 

To Gen’s disappointment, “work to do” meant sitting in Harold’s office while Shaw went to tail their number. Harold was fiddling with his phone while he briefed Shaw, but soon put it down in favor of grading papers. Gen watched for a while before piping up with a question.

“Why do you keep this job?”

Harold glanced over at her, then turned back to his papers. “I suppose it makes me feel normal. I’m a good teacher, I enjoy the subject, and it gives me a semblance of an ordinary life.” He paused. “And after Dominic and Caleb and Claire and Harper, I find it useful to keep an eye on the academic scene.”

“Who are they? Do they work for you?”

“Harper works for The Machine, through encrypted messages The Machine sends her. I’m not sure how much she has figured out. Claire assists us occasionally, under strict supervision. She used to work for our opponent. Caleb runs a computer company and we use his company to run a recruiting app, though he doesn’t know what the app is, exactly. We also purchase the majority of his research. Dominic, well, he, uh, runs the Brotherhood. We try to avoid him.”

“The Brotherhood? That gang that replaced the Russians?”

“Yes.”

“And you, what? Taught all these people?”

“Some of them I met through substituting at high schools. The others through work at universities.”

“You’re a bad influence Harold. Setting up the worst gang in the city? Tsk, tsk.”

Harold turned full around in his chair, shock plastered onto his face. “Miss Zhirova!”

Gen laughed. “Relax! I was just teasing.”

Harold opened his mouth, then narrowed his eyes at Gen. “Very funny, Miss Zhirova.” He tapped the graded papers into a neat stack on the corner of his desk, and turned to his computer.

Gen waited a few minutes before interrupting again. “What are you doing?”

“Entering grades. And planning the restoration of the library.”

“What library?”

“Oh, just a library I own. It went into disrepair during the war.”

“May I see?”

As Harold gestured her over, there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” Harold called out.

A student opened the door. “Professor Whistler. I was hoping to get some help with this latest assignment. I did all the reading, but I don’t think I understand it very well.”

“Ah, certainly. Please sit down.”

The student glanced at Gen, a slight crease in his brow.

“Oh.” Harold turned to Gen. “Would you mind waiting outside while I help this young man?”

Gen shrugged. “Sure.” She grabbed her bag and exited the office.

 

\----------

 

Shaw stomped into Harold’s office, startling the student sitting in front of the desk. Shaw frowned at Harold. “Where’s Gen?”

Harold looked around. “She was just outside . . .”

Shaw leaned forward, placing her hands firmly on the desk. “Tell me you didn’t lose her.”

Harold stood up and took Shaw by the arm. He turned to the student, who was looking at them worriedly. “Excuse us for a moment.”

“Absolutely!” the student said, scooting his chair a little further from Shaw.

Harold pulled Shaw out of his office and closed the door. Shaw folded her arms and glared. Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Harold quickly stepped down the hall to the secretary’s desk. “Excuse me, but have you seen a young girl leave here?”

The secretary glanced up. “Yeah, about an hour ago.”

“Thank you.” Harold hurried back to Shaw. “It appears she left.”

Shaw stared at him.

“I think it is fortunate that I bluejacked her phone.”

Shaw’s stare intensified.

Harold pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped a few buttons. “Here. GPS and audio.”

Voices came out of the speaker, faint, but clear.

_Yes officer?_

_What were you doing in there?_

_Hiding._

_Not breaking into an apartment?_

_No sir._

_You just happened to be hiding in the building vents when an apartment was getting robbed._

_I guess so._

Harold quickly dialed the precinct. “Detective Fusco!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m afraid one of our team is about to get arrested for breaking and entering. Would you mind?”

“Sure, Glasses. Where do I need to be?”

“52 Avenue B.”

“All right, I’m on my way. Who is it this time? Nutter Butter or Miss Mayhem?”

“Neither, actually.”

“No? So who is it? You?”

“No, no, no. Her name is Genrika Zhirova. She’s . . . new.”

“Okay. You know, the force is starting to think I’m a little weird, showing up in places I shouldn’t be at. I’m homicide, not robbery.”

“I’m sure that next to John, you are the epitome of normal.”

“Ha! That’s right.”

 

Lionel quickly got to the address Harold had given him. There he saw two uniforms talking to a teenage girl. Buttoning his coat, he approached them. “What’s going on here?”

“Detective. We caught this girl crawling out of the vents.”

“So trespassing?”

“We just got a call about a break-in in this building.”

“Oh. Have you interviewed the caller yet?”

“No.”

“Well then, you go do that, and I’ll keep an eye on this one.”

“All right. Thanks.”

The officers left, entering the apartment building. Lionel turned to the girl. She was clutching a backpack and glaring at him. He sighed.

“You Genrika Zhirova?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Glasses said you were part of the team. Sent me to stop you from getting arrested.”

“Glasses? You mean Harold? Harold said I was part of the team?” The girl smiled wildly.

“Uh huh.” Fusco looked at Gen. “I didn’t think he’d recruit anyone so young.”

“He didn’t. I volunteered and wouldn’t let him say no.”

Lionel snorted. “You’re crazy. You’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks. What’s your name?”

“Lionel Fusco, Detective.” He shook her hand.

“How long have you been with the team?”

“Nearly five years now. Say.” Lionel eyed Gen. “Did you break into that place?”

Gen blinked. “Uh. No?”

“Oh geez. Did you take anything?”

“No. And I wore gloves.”

“That’s something, at least. Got anything in that bag that’ll look bad if we search it?”

Gen silently handed her backpack over. Lionel opened it and looked inside. It contained: one ski mask, one set latex gloves, two electronic bugs, one coil of wire, one comprehensive set of lockpicks, one camera (digital, point and click), one spiral notebook, one laptop, five IDs, one folding knife, and three pens. Lionel shook his head. He took everything out except the camera, the notebook, the laptop, the knife, the IDs, and the pens. He handed the backpack back to Gen. “Pick an ID, and give me the rest.” She grabbed one from her pile and slid the rest of the cards into his hand. Looking around for the officers, he quickly stashed the stuff in his trunk. Gen watched quietly.

He walked back to her. “Are they going to find the bugs you planted?”

“Probably not. It took the Russians months to find them and they were super paranoid, so unless your officers are better than that, it’ll be fine.”

“Okay, okay.” Fusco shook his head. “Kids these days.”

They stared at each other for a few minutes, until one of the officers came out of the apartment.

“Caller said nothing was taken.” he reported.

“Okay then.” Lionel said. “Kid. You break in there on a dare or something?”

“No, sir.” Gen was all earnestness. “I was just hiding in the vents.”

The officer leaned over to Fusco. “That’s what she said when we caught her, but she wouldn’t say why.”

“Come on kid. Why were you in the vents? You got to know this looks bad.”

Gen kicked at a rock at the ground. “I was trying to avoid this boy from school. He keeps following me and I don’t like it.”

The officer laughed a little. “That was it?”

Gen nodded sheepishly.

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“Emily St. James.” The officer wrote it down carefully in his notebook.

“All right. Mind if I take a look in your backpack?”

Gen handed it over. The officer glanced through it, then handed it back. “All right, I’ll let you go, but don’t go crawling around vents any more!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Gen ran off down the street.

The officer turned to Fusco. “What were you doing around here?”

“Eh, I was in the neighborhood. You guys keep up the good work.”

Lionel got in his car and drove down the street, catching up with Gen. He pulled over and rolled down the window. “Get in, I’ll take you home. Where is home, anyway?”

“I’m staying with Shaw right now.”

Lionel snorted. “Huh. Right. Tell you what. I’ll drop you off with the professor.”

As he drove off, Lionel called Harold. “Hey Glasses. It’s taken care of. And next time? Don’t send a teenager to bug an apartment.”

Harold sighed. “Is that what she was doing?”

“I think so, yeah. She also told the officer her name was Emily St. James.”

“I heard.”

“That alias going to hold up?”

“Possibly. How solid does it need to be?”

“That was Officer Robinson. He’s pretty careful. He’ll look your girl up however he can.”

“Oh dear.”

“I confiscated some of her stuff too, just in case the officer decided to search her.”

“She had stuff that would be incriminating?”

“Like you would not believe.”

“Oh dear. I think I had better speak with Miss Zhirova about appropriate team behaviour.”

“Well, you’ll have your chance soon. We’re on our way.”

“No one is at the subway currently, so if you could bring her to my office at the university?”

“Right. University it is.”

When they got there, Fusco put the confiscated goods in a plastic bag and walked Gen up to Harold’s office. Shaw was waiting outside. Harold had re-entered the office to finish helping his student.

Fusco passed the bag of contraband off to Shaw. “I’m gonna want an explanation of why a kid was doing your job.” he said, gesturing to Gen and the bag. “But right now I gotta get back to work.”

Shaw nodded. “Oh, I will explain it to you.” Shaw said. “As soon as she explains it all to me.”

Gen squirmed.

 

\----------

 

Gen sat in the chair in front of the office. Shaw stood across the hall, watching her. Gen would glance up occasionally, only to be met by a fierce scowl, at which point she would drop her head down again. After a few long minutes Harold ushered his student out of the office and turned to Gen. “Please. Come in.”

Gen shuffled into the office, closely followed by Shaw. Harold sat himself down across from her and gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Please. Sit.”

Gen sat.

Shaw handed the bag of contraband to Harold and leaned against the wall.

Harold peered in the bag. He looked at Gen.

Finally breaking the silence, Gen said. “Am I in trouble?”

“I am not sure.”

“There was a number. I was helping.”

“Indeed?”

“I bugged the apartment. Here!” Gen pulled the laptop out of her backpack and flipped it open, quickly pulling up the feeds from the bugs she had placed around the apartment. Harold raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“So?” Gen asked. “We good?”

Shaw snorted.

Harold glanced at Shaw, then turned back to Gen. “Miss Zhirova. The problem is not your actions. The problem is that you did not approve your actions beforehand. Things could have gone badly and we would not have known where you were or what you were doing. As it was, you nearly got arrested.”

Gen opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Gave a glare that, with practice, could possibly match Shaw’s.

“How did you find me?” She finally said.

Harold smiled. “I think I’ll let you figure that out.”

Shaw smirked.

Gen sighed.

Harold continued. “Please, Miss Zhirova. Just tell us what you’re planning on doing before you do it.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an alias to bolster.”

Harold passed the bag of equipment to Gen and turned to his computer. Shaw stepped forward and walked Gen out of the building.

 

Shaw stomped down the street in silence.

Gen had to really stretch to keep up.

She hesitantly said. “Sorry.”

Shaw stared straight forward as they kept walking.

After a couple tense moments, Shaw stopped, grabbed Gen’s shoulders, and glared at her. “Don’t do that again.”

Gen nodded. “I promise I’ll tell you or Harold or Root or John or Detective Fusco where I’m going and what I’m doing before I do it.”

Shaw nodded tersely and began walking again, slower this time.

Gen smiled. Shaw cared more than she let on.

“Where are we going?” Gen eventually ventured.

“Gun range. I want to shoot something.”

“Cool. Can I shoot too?”

“Do you have the ID that says I’m your guardian?”

Gen dug through her bag. “Adelaide Royce? That one?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“You can shoot.”

Gen gave a silent fist pump, then hurried to catch up with Shaw.


	3. Bring it, Spook

Shaw snuck into the subway, shaking the snow off her jacket. This past number was a breeze to deal with. She hadn’t even needed to kneecap anyone. Harold and Gen were leaning forward over a chess game, deep in conversation about who-knows-what. Well, if Shaw knew them, they were talking about The Machine. That’s all they had been talking about the past few days. Shaw slid around the side of the room, coming up behind the subway car, and listened in.

Gen was talking animatedly, as Harold stepped his king forward. “But why doesn’t She send the numbers to the police? The federal governments get the relevant ones, but it’s the local police’s job to deal with murder, which is what most irrelevants are.”

“The problem with informing local police . . .” Harold began. He was interrupted by a cynical voice calling across the station. “is that if people knew about Her they would try to destroy Her and She’s had enough of that.”

“Root!” Gen cried out and jumped up, running over to give the tall woman a hug. Shaw looked around the corner of the subway car and walked up behind Harold. He really should have noticed her (he had been getting harder to sneak up on) but he was too busy staring at the woman who had come in behind Root.

Harold let out a soft breath. “Grace?”

“You utter imbecile.” Grace shook her head at him. “What part of ‘I love you’ don’t you understand?”

“I . . . I . . .” Harold stammered.

“I told you I don’t care about your past. Of course, John had to explain a few things, like why you faked your death.” Grace said. “I think I would like to hear the full story from you.”

“Ahhh.”

Shaw laughed loudly at his dumb expression.

He jumped in his chair. “Ms. Shaw! Why must you sneak up on people like that!”

Shaw just smirked and moved one of Gen’s knights. “Checkmate.”

Harold looked bewilderedly at the chessboard, then up to smirking Shaw, then over to Gen (who was holding his jacket, scarf, and hat), then to Root, who smiled pityingly. “Take your girl to dinner, Harry. She’s had a long day. We can handle anything that comes up.”

He finally looked back at Grace who smiled. “Come on. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He smoothed his vest and stood up, accepting his outerwear from Gen. He offered his arm to Grace and they exited the station, beginning to talk eagerly.

 

Root pulled off her coat and scarf and settled into Harold’s chair. Shaw scanned her body as she did so, looking for any stiffness or blood. Root didn’t look hurt anywhere, so Shaw perched on the desk next to her. “Chile to New York via Italy?”

“Her idea.” Root said. “She even bought the tickets.”

“Really?” Gen hopped up on the desk on the other side of Root. “She plays matchmaker?”

“Only for Harold it seems.” Root glanced briefly at Shaw, then turned back to Gen. “How’s your vacation gone so far?”

“Good! I bugged our number’s apartment. Almost got arrested. Met Fusco. Freaked Harold out a couple of times. Played a lot of chess. How was Chile?”

Root hummed. “Oh, the usual. Following people, shooting people, saving people. My Spanish is certainly a lot better now.” Her black nails tapped unconsciously on the desk. “Do we have a number?”

“Not right now.” Shaw answered. “I just finished the latest.”

Root nodded. Her eyes unfocused and she cocked her head slightly. After a moment she returned to earth. “She has a job for me; I’ll see you both later.”

As Root stood up, Shaw did too. “Another number? Need company?”

Root gave a short smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I think you had better take Gen home. One of us has to be responsible, after all.” Root blew Shaw a kiss and disappeared out the door.

 

After dinner (Shaw taught Gen how to make chicken on rice), Shaw flopped onto the couch in front of the TV. Reaching to the side, she pulled a couple controllers from under the end table. She waved them at Gen. “Do you play?”

Gen grinned. “Do I play? What do you got?”

“Halo, Assassin’s Creed: Victory, Minecraft, Madden 13, Need for Speed: No Rivals.”

Gen’s grin turned wicked. “I am queen at Assassin’s Creed.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Prove it.”

Gen laughed and jumped onto the couch next to Shaw. “Bring it, spook.”

 

They were still embroiled in the depths of London when Root came through the door. She placed her bags down gently on the kitchen table and came to stand between them, leaning on the back of the couch. “Who’s winning?” she asked.

“It’s a cooperative multiplayer, Root.” Shaw said, rolling her eyes. “There isn’t a winner.”

Root shrugged. “Pff. What kind of game doesn’t have a winner?”

Shaw and Gen just ignored her, focusing back on the screen.

Root went to put away her bags. When she got back to the living room, Shaw spoke up. “Leftovers in the fridge.”

Root pulled the container of extra food out of the fridge and disappeared into the other bedroom. When Shaw finally got to bed, Root was already asleep.

 

\-----------

 

Gen wandered into the kitchen late the next morning and pulled a bowl out of the cupboard. She poured herself a generous helping of honey bunches of oats and splashed milk on it. Leaning against the counter she watched Root expertly take apart an arsenal of weapons on the kitchen table.

Gen spoke with no prelude. “How long have you and Shaw been living together?”

Root turned to Gen, blinked twice, and shrugged, turning back to the disassembled weaponry on the table.

Gen sighed. Looks like she would have to start with easier questions. “What are you doing?”

“Putting this taser” (Root waved at a pile of electronics) “into something more discreet.” Root casually picked up what appeared to be the handle of a very large handgun.

“That’s more discreet?” The skeptical tone was one only a teenager could produce.

Root’s gave a short laugh as she fastened the handle into a vice and marked the bottom with two dots. “For this identity, I think it will be.”

Gen looked at the gun parts on the table. “That’s a revolver, right?”

Root nodded. She revved an electric drill and began boring into the handle.

Gen continued. “You usually carry semi-automatics.”

Root glanced up. “You’ve been paying attention.”

Gen snorted. “Duh. So why a revolver this time?”

Root leaned forward and blew on the handle, clearing out the sawdust. She nodded in satisfaction and flipped the handle around in the vise. “She told me to.”

“And to put a taser in it?”

“Oh no, that was my idea.”

“Uh huh.” Gen tipped her bowl, drinking the leftover milk. “You know, we are a really weird . . . whatever we are.”

Root didn’t say anything.

 

\----------

 

Harold sat in one of his safe houses quite content. He’d woken up next to his love, Samaritan was gone, the world was getting safer by the minute as his Machine worked to protect people. Just then, Grace walked in with a cup of tea for him. She handed him the cup and perched on a chair next him. “We should invite all your friends over for Christmas.”

“What?”

“You are planning on doing something for Christmas, aren’t you?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” Harold murmured. He wasn’t really the celebrating type.

“Well, I think it would be really fun. I don’t know them very well, and you are obviously very close to them. I mean, Root even came and picked me up!”

“My relationship with that woman is quite complicated.” Harold stated.

“Oh, I know.” Grace’s face was very smug. “Now call your friends and invite them over. We’ll go shopping this afternoon because you are quite bereft of decorations.”

Harold smiled, and picked up his phone.

 

He dialed Root first. She had brought him Grace, after all.

Root’s voice came over the line. “Yes?”

“Grace and I would like to invite you to dinner and a small celebration on Christmas. I would also like to give you my most sincere thanks for bringing her back to me.”

“Thank your machine, Harry. And John. They arranged it.”

“Still, Ms. Groves. Thank you.”

Root was quiet for a moment. “All right.” she said, before hanging up abruptly.

 

Shaw was next.

Her answer was typically blunt. “Harold.”

“Ms. Shaw. I’m calling to invite you to a Christmas dinner and small party.”

“A party?”

“It was Grace’s idea.” He confessed.

“Sure, I’ll come.” Shaw said.

 

Next was Genrika. She answered the phone with an excited “New number?”

“No. Uh. Miss Zhirova. Grace and I are having a Christmas dinner and party of sorts. We would be delighted if you would come.”

“Of course I’ll come, Harold! Who else will be there?”

“The whole team, hopefully. Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw will be there. I plan to also invite Mr. Reese, Ms. Morgan, and Detective Fusco. And Bear, of course.”

“Cool!”

“Also, would you like to go shopping this afternoon? Grace informs me that we need a number of things for the party, and I thought perhaps you would like to help?”

“Yeah! I can ask Grace all about younger you!”

Harold swallowed. “Ah. We will pick you up about 1?”

“Great! See you then!”

Harold hung up his phone. “Oh dear.”

Grace laughed. “What?”

“Energetic teenagers.”

“You invited her to go shopping with us?”

“I hope you don’t mind. It’ll give you a chance to get to know her and I thought she might like to help with the decorating. I don’t imagine she has had much in the way of Christmases before.”

Grace bent down and kissed him. “You are a good man.”

Harold twitched an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should reserve that judgement until after you answer her inordinate amount of questions.”

 

John was next.

“Grace and I would like to invite you to Christmas dinner and party.”

“A Christmas party, Finch?”

“Yes. And Ms. Morgan is invited too.”

“Okay, Finch. We’ll be there.”

“Good. Oh, and John?”

“Yes?”

“I understand you were the one who convinced Grace to come. You have my deepest gratitude.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

Harold hardly hesitated before calling Lionel. He was the only one of the group with family, but would probably appreciate the invite anyway. He knew everything and was one of the team now.

The stout man answered the phone in true cop fashion. “Fusco.”

“Hello, Detective.”

Lionel snorted. “Is Harriet the Spy about to get arrested again?”

“No, no, not at all. I was calling you to invite you to a Christmas dinner and small party. If you are free that day.”

“I get my son in the morning, but I’m free from about one on.”

“Excellent. We’ll be having dinner at four.”

 

\----------

 

“Hi Harold!”

“Hello.”

Gen stuck her hand out to Grace. “You’re Grace Hendricks. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Genrika Zhirova but you can call me Gen. Everyone does. Except Harold.”

Grace shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Gen bent down to rub Bear’s ears. “Where are we going?”

“That is up to Grace.” Harold smiled. “She knows what we need.” He passed Gen Bear’s leash and they headed down the street.

As they walked, Gen began the expected questioning. “Are we going to do presents? At the party?”

Harold raised his eyebrows. “If you wish to, you may. I do not know what the others are planning. You are welcome to buy whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“What about a yacht?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“You can afford a yacht.” There was that teenage skepticism again.

“Now that Samaritan is gone I have been able to access my previous aliases. The Machine kept up their covers during the war.”

At Gen’s questioning look, Harold explained. “Taxes, regular expenses, that sort of thing. So the identity would not go stagnant. It has taken some time, but I have access to all my previous funds. And I must say, collecting interest for two years has not diminished them in the slightest.”

Gen considered. “So, my cover over the summer as a ward of reclusive billionaire. That’s really true?”

“Yes.”

“Woah.” Gen nodded slowly. “Like, I know you got me into Fitzhugh Quinnell, but I kind of thought I was a scholarship student.”

“Oh no. You are certainly qualified for a scholarship, but when I enrolled you I made sure all expenses were paid through graduation. Just in case. And I’m glad I did.”

“Were you the one paying for the stuff we did over vacation then? ‘Cause I was sure Root was just scamming it all. I mean, she used 79 different credit cards. I counted.”

Harold paused. “I paid for whatever Ms. Shaw bought.”

“Oh. She used 26 different cards. Were those all yours?”

Harold winced slightly. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Gen looked at him. “Probably not.”

Grace, having been fondly watching their interaction, entered the conversation. “What did you do last summer?”

Gen grinned. “Shaw and Root took me on a tour of Europe!”

“And that is all I need to know.” Harold said. “Please. No more.”

He stepped forward urgently. Grace moved next to Gen and leaned over. “You can tell me all about it later.” She whispered conspiratorially.

 

\----------

 

Shaw thumped through the front door. Tossing her jacket onto the couch, she looked around the room. “Where’s Gen?”

Root waved a hand. “She left with Harold. Shopping for a Christmas party, I think. We’re invited.” Spinning in her chair, she held out her newly modified revolver. “What do you think?”

Shaw hefted the gun. “Weight is still good.” She flipped the cylinder out and spun it. “Seems all right. I would shoot it first, just to be sure. When will Gen be back?”

“After dinner. Or so the text from Grace said.”

“And Harold is throwing a party?”

“Yeah. Some ridiculous over the top thing, I’m sure.” Root rolled her eyes and turned back to the table of tools.

“Uh huh.” Shaw pursed her lips. “Get your coat.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

They had walked about a mile quietly when Shaw broke the silence.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that. You’ve been Eeyore ever since you got back.”

Root walked a few steps before replying. “Did you celebrate Christmas growing up?”  
“Yeah. We didn’t do Santa, but we celebrated.”

Root walked a few more steps. “I don’t like Christmas.”

Shaw grunted.

Root pursed her lips, then burst out. “It’s not just Christmas. I don’t like any holiday, which was fine until SHE decided they were important. Taking that woman home, bringing Grace back to Harold, regaling me with all these stories about sappy family reunions. These “families” are really only saying things they don’t mean and pretending to enjoy themselves just to get blackout drunk and forget it all!”

Shaw nodded. “That’s a pretty accurate assessment.”

“Exactly!” Root flung her hands out. “All this deceit and pointless social interaction and for what? Not even a paycheck at the end! I only put myself through something that onerous for a well-paid assassination!”

“An assassination?” Shaw asked dryly.

“Well, not any more, of course, but that only means holidays are even more useless than they used to be!”

“Uh huh.”

Root shrugged, then said in a falsely cheerful voice, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’re here.” Shaw said, swinging open the door to her favorite gun range.

 

After testing (and modifying) Root’s taser gun to Shaw’s satisfaction, they entered the gun shop next door. At Root’s raised eyebrow, Shaw said. “I need a new gun.”

Root glanced even more quizzically at Shaw. “Isn’t this a bit . . . legal?”

Shaw looked to the man behind the counter. He walked into the back room and came back out with a large case.

Opening the case, Shaw quickly glanced through the contents. “Where’s the one my friend used at the range yesterday?”

“Your young friend?”

“Yeah.”

The proprietor shuffled through the case and pulled a Sig Sauer P229 9mm (along with an extra magazine) from the bottom.

Shaw checked it over. “How much?”

“Thousand dollars and you were never here.”

Shaw pulled an envelope out of her pocket and placed in the case. Sliding the newly acquired weapon into her coat, she nodded at the man and grabbed Root.

As they walked out the door, Shaw smirked. “Not legal.”


	4. There Was Even Eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically pure fluff. Sorry, not sorry.

Christmas morning Gen was the first one up. She walked into the living room and turned on the stereo. Finding a station that was playing ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’ she turned the volume up until her ears started to hurt. She set a stopwatch and retreated to the kitchen to begin making French Toast.

The music suddenly stopped and Gen grinned. She tapped the stopwatch again (it took a whole 13 minutes to get them up) and said  “Merry Christmas!” She could feel Shaw’s glare at her back. Gen turned around. “I made you breakfast.” She held a plate heaped generously with French Toast to Shaw.

Shaw harumphed, but grabbed the plate and sat down.

“Is Root awake?” Gen asked, innocently.

“Yes.” Root said from the doorway. “I’m awake.”

Gen turned, smiling. After a quick analysis of Root’s expression, she decided not to say “Merry Christmas” and instead said. “Coffee’s ready.”

They ate breakfast in silence. When they were all done, Root and Shaw began to clean up. Gen was about to help when she noticed how well the two worked together. They moved around the kitchen in perfect efficiency, each doing their part and never getting in the other’s way. It was as beautiful as that dance they’d seen in Russia last summer.

So, instead of helping, Gen got dressed and collected an extra hat, scarf, and carrot.

“I’m going to go make a snowman.” She announced. “Do you want to come?”

The two women looked at each other. Shaw twitched a shoulder. Root dropped her chin.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Gen nodded determinedly. “Go get dressed. I’ll meet you outside.”

 

Gen had managed to roll one ball of snow nearly as tall as she was and was in the process of rolling ball number two when the women made it out of the apartment building, Shaw in the lead and Root reluctantly trailing. She hefted the ball up, nearly dropping it on herself. Shaw dashed over and helped her wrangle it into place. Gen quickly began rolling the head. Root looked at the snowman, now taller than both Shaw and Gen and asked. “How are you going to get the head up there?”

“I’ll sit on Shaw’s shoulders.” Gen said. “And you can pass the head up to me. Ready Shaw?”

Shaw crouched down, and Gen leapfrogged onto her shoulders. Shaw grabbed Gen’s ankles and stood up.

Root raised an eyebrow, but obligingly bent down and picked up the snowman’s head, passing it to Gen. Shaw walked over to the snowman and Gen settled it firmly on top. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her decorations. Once the carrot and hat and scarf (and some rocks) adorned the snowman, Shaw backed away. Root was leaning against a tree, fiddling with a phone. Gen bent down and whispered into Shaw’s ear. Shaw smirked and crouched down so Gen could hop off. Shaw walked up to Root. “What are you doing?”

Root looked up. “Begging her for a number so I can miss the party. Where’s Gen?”

Shaw smirked, just as Gen shoved a handful of snow down Root’s back.

It quickly turned into a full out war; Shaw and Gen versus Root. When Root complained about the division, Shaw pointed out that Root had The Machine whispering in her ear and that was totally another team member so it really was two on two.

 

Eventually, they dragged themselves inside to dry off and warm up. “We’ve still got a few hours until the party.” Gen said. “What do you guys want to do?”

“We could finish Assassin’s Creed.” Shaw suggested.

“Sounds good.” Root said, and made to leave the room. Shaw grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Root lost her balance and fell onto the couch, half sprawled over Shaw’s lap.

Shaw waved a controller in front of her face. “You’re playing with us.”

Root rolled her eyes, but sat up and took the controller. She tucked her feet under Shaw’s legs and easily navigated through the game introduction.

“And no hacking it.” commanded Gen.

“Spoilsport.” Root muttered, but with a smile.

 

They entered the safe house, Shaw picking the lock. Bear was the first to greet them, tongue lolling as he loped up to be petted. John relaxed on the couch, his arm around a woman Gen didn’t recognize. Grace and Harold sat close together on the loveseat. There was a tree in the corner, glittering with lights. A few presents sat under it.

Shaw nodded at John when she came in, then bent down to pet Bear.

Root stepped inside, looked around the room, and focused on the woman next to John, smiling broadly.

“Zoe Morgan. It is so nice to finally meet you.”

The tall woman stood up and smiled. “You must be Root. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Your work is very impressive.” Root said. “Especially that job in DC with . . .”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Zoe interrupted. “The boys don’t need to know about that.”

John leaned over to Finch as Root and Zoe continued talking. “This was either a really good or a really bad idea.”

“Indeed. I had not considered the damage they could do together.”

Lionel burst through the door just then, wearing a loud Christmas sweater and a Santa hat. “Merry Christmas everybody!” He placed a couple packages under the tree and flopped down into a recliner.

Harold smiled. “Merry Christmas, Detective.”

“Nope. Not a detective right now. This is my day off. I saw my son this morning, I get to spend time with you nut jobs, and whatever you’re cooking smells amazing. Life is good.”

Lionel flipped the foot rest up on the recliner and closed his eyes.

 

Dinner was very traditional, but delicious all the same. For once they ate at a relaxed place. There was nowhere they needed to be, no people to save. It started snowing again, softening the light through the windows. They finished eating and moved to the living area, gathered around the tree, swapping stories, and sharing drinks. (There was even eggnog, but they had to spike their own glasses. No one was letting Gen near the alcohol.) John and Shaw got into a bragging competition, trying to one-up the other with shooting feats and number of enemies taken out. Grace was in quiet conversation with Lionel, occasionally shooting worried glances at Harold as Fusco explained their work and the AI war. He was much more open than Harold about it. Root and Zoe and Harold chatted about this and that, occasionally commenting on one of the Mayhem Twin’s less plausible stories. Gen sat in rapt attention, trying to absorb everything at once. Eventually twilight came, and Grace got up to close the curtains and turn on the lights.

“Shall we open presents now?” she suggested.

Everyone turned to look at the tree. “Why not.” John said.

“I’ll pass them out!” Gen said eagerly. She made quick work of the pile under the tree and soon everybody had a present or two in front of them. There was a short pause while everybody looked at their presents in awkward silence. Most of them really didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing. Lionel eventually snorted and began tearing the wrapping paper off his box. That got the others laughing and they too started to open their presents.

 

Harold had given everyone a new phone. At Root’s raised eyebrow and impressed whistle, he hastened to explain to the others. “They still use the mesh network, but with better security. Longer battery life, and a few more apps I think might come in useful. They also interface with your earbuds more securely. All your contacts and information are on them already.”

“Thanks Finch.” John said, and the others murmured in agreement.

Gen was grinning too widely to talk.

 

Zoe examined her phone carefully, then smiled. Moving to her next present, she found a necklace from John. “Beautiful.” she said, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. John cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, and it will open pretty much any pair of handcuffs.”

She laughed out loud at that, and turned her back to John, moving her hair out of the way. “Put it on me.”

 

Grace opened her other box and found a ring from Harold. She looked at it in astonishment. “This is the one you proposed with! How did you find it?”

“I know people.” Harold said with a smile. “Will you?”

“My answer is still the same.” Grace said, leaning forward and kissing him.

 

Gen ignored the mushy exchanges and opened the rest of her presents. John gave her a Samsung NX1 (“If you’re going to take pictures, take good ones.”) and Fusco presented her with a remote control helicopter. (“Thought you’d like it.” he blushed when Gen sprang up to give him a big hug.) She opened a thin box next and exclaimed when she discovered it was full of documents: birth certificates, passports, school transcripts, even a couple checking accounts. Flipping through the papers she murmured the familiar names, “ Jennifer Wren. Jessica Crane. Emily St. James. Adelaide Royce. Elisabeth Crow? That’s a new one.”

“Yes.” Harold said. “After last week I realized you could use more, and better done, aliases, so these are all as realistic as I can make them.”

“Cool!” Gen’s face was starting to hurt from smiling so much.

The last box was poorly wrapped, with a squashed bow stapled to the top. There was no tag. Gen opened it to discover a handgun and a whole box of ammo. Her eyes widened. “Really? This is awesome! I’m really part of the team now!”

“Yeah, kid, you are.” Shaw said. “Just be careful with who sees that gun. It’s not registered and I’m pretty sure your school would object to it.”

Gen nodded furiously. “Absolutely.” She hugged herself and continued grinning.

 

Zoe tossed back the last of her (spiked) eggnog and pulled a pack of cards from her purse. “You ever played poker, Gen?”

Gen looked up. “No.”

“Great. I’ll teach you. It’s a valuable skill.” She stood up from the couch and moved to the table. “Come on, John. I need someone to beat if I’m to teach her properly.”

John gave a small chuckle. “I’ll show her how it’s done when I beat you. Anyone else in for a game?”

“Sure.” Fusco grunted. “What are the stakes?”

“Chocolate.” Zoe said, pulling the bowl of Christmas candy towards her.

They four of them quickly got into the game. Harold and Grace cuddled on the loveseat, while Shaw fetched the bottle of whiskey and flopped back onto the couch to drink. Root looked to Harold. “Why do you have a piano here?”

“It came with the apartment.”

“Mmm.” Root casually got up and wandered over to the piano. Some minutes later, she began quietly playing. No one said anything, though Shaw shifted in her seat so she could watch Root’s fingers dance across the keyboard.


	5. What Kind of Weird Ass People Are You?

The week after Christmas was back to normal. Root left briefly for a relevant in Canada.

(“Canada? They have terrorists in Canada?” Shaw asked. “You should know not to perpetuate stereotypes, Shaw.” Root replied. “I’ll perpetuate whatever the hell I feel like perpetuating.” Shaw grumbled, as she shoved a heavy coat into Root’s arms.)

Irrelevants came for the home team, and Gen helped. She went with John to take pictures a couple times, provided directions and research with Harold over the coms, and even assisted Shaw in preventing a woman from murdering her husband.

 

Early the Friday before Gen had to get back to school, she was woken by Shaw flicking on her bedroom light. “New number.” Shaw said. “Come on.”

Gen nodded and rolled out of bed. When she got to the living room, dressed and armed, Shaw tossed her a granola bar.

“What have we got?” Gen asked.

“Pete Michaels. IRS agent. As far as John can tell, his problem is that he sidelines by doing accounting work for the Irish Mob.”

“John’s doing the research?”

“Yeah, Harold is away at another conference.”

“Okay. So how did Pete piss off the Mob?”

“Dunno yet. We’re going to follow him until something happens.

Shaw parked the car outside his house. “His apartment is that one up there.” Just as she pointed to it, a light flicked on behind the blinds. Shaw frowned. “He’s up early.”

“Want me to bug him?” Gen asked eagerly.

Shaw shook her head. “Not yet. Keep an eye on him. I’m going to sweep the perimeter.”

The next two hours were pretty boring. Shaw did sweeps every half an hour, while Gen amused herself by messing with her camera, getting used to different aperture sizes and shutter times. Once the morning rush started, Pete exited his apartment building. “I can follow him on foot,” Gen suggested. “and you can meet us at his work.”

“Sounds good. Try to bluejack his phone while you’re at it.”

Gen slipped out of the car, grabbing her backpack. Shaw watched for a few minutes while Gen casually walked down the street, keeping their target in sight. Then she started the car and hurried to get to his work place as soon as she could through the morning traffic.

He worked in a large office building. By the time Shaw got the car parked in a nearby parking garage and made it to the building, Gen was sitting at a table, munching on a bagel and playing tetris on her phone. Shaw sat down beside her and opened the box from the bakery. Gen pushed a cup of coffee towards her as Shaw bit hungrily into a doughnut. “Bluejacked his phone.”

“Good. Where are we on the security cameras?”

John’s voice came through their earbuds. “Couldn’t get it, and I just got called to work. You’re on your own for now.”

“Not entirely alone.” A chipper voice butted in. “I think I can get the camera feeds.”

“Root.” The corner of Shaw’s mouth twitched up.

“Miss me, sweetie?”

“Like I miss the avian flu.”

“Hey, Root.” Gen butted in. “How was Canada?”

“Hi, Gen.” Root replied. “It was cold. How was New York?”

“Good. Not ready to go back to school.”

“School is overrated.”

“You think I could . . .”

“No.” Root said. “But we’ll come visit a lot, right, sweetie?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Shaw muttered. “You got those feeds yet?”

“Of course! Anything for you.”

“Root.” Shaw growled.

“I’ll send them to your phones.”

 

Pete stayed in his office, working industriously all morning. He left for lunch, and Shaw and Gen followed him to a cafe a couple of blocks over. Root met them there, her feet on up on a table, and a set of sandwiches ready for them. The afternoon was spent watching Pete work and betting on the office drama. (Gen smoked both of them. “It’s just like school drama” she explained.) After work, Pete went out to a bar for dinner and drinks with some coworkers. Shaw went in to watch him while Root got dinner with Gen at a nearby restaurant. Pete ended up bar crawling for most of the night, Root and Shaw taking turns going inside with him. Eventually, Pete took a cab home. Shaw called John. “Hey, he’s home. Can you take watch him for a few hours while we get some rest?”

“Sure.”

 

\----------

 

They relieved John about 8 the next morning. “Anything happen interesting?”

“He’s still asleep, but he has at least 10 messages on his phone. All from his mob contact.”

Shaw nodded in acknowledgment.

John left, and they spent the next few hours playing poker in the car, Root unsuccessfully attempting to win kisses from Shaw. Their phones beeped as Pete woke up and checked his messages. A scant few minutes later, he ran out of the house and pelted down the street. Gen immediately hopped out of the car and hurried after him. Root smirked, getting out of the car. “I’ve got her, sweetie.”

Shaw rolled her eyes and started the car. Stashing it in a nearby parking garage, she tapped her earbud. “Where are you?”

“On the subway headed south.” Came Gen’s reply. “If you hurry, you can catch the train right after us.”

Shaw grunted, and sped walked to the nearest subway station.

 

She caught up with Gen outside a warehouse. At Shaw’s raised eyebrow, Gen explained. “Root’s around the corner watching our guy. He’s been pacing back and forth in front of the door for like half an hour.”

Shaw poked her head around the wall. Root was some feet away, behind a dumpster and Pete was, indeed, pacing in front of a dingy door. He stopped suddenly, faced the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. As soon as it shut behind him, Shaw waved Gen forward. Root carefully cracked the door open to reveal a dim hallway. They watched as Pete knocked on door at the very end of it. He apparently heard a response from inside, because he opened the door and entered.

Shaw and Root drew their weapons and moved silently down the hallway. Gen quickly pulled her gun and followed. They were half way down the hall when Root began sprinting towards the door. The other two were close behind.

With no warning, Root slammed through the door and tackled Pete. He was standing in front of a desk, and was surrounded by five large and well-armed men. The men had all their guns pointed at Root and Pete when Shaw stomped through the door and started kneecapping people. They didn’t have time to swing their guns towards her before they were all writhing in pain on the ground.

Gen tucked her gun back into her pants and helped Root and Pete up. Unfortunately, the man behind the desk had hit a panic button, and, as they moved to go out the way they came, they saw men running down the hall.

“Other way.” Shaw said, throwing the door shut and bolting it. They made for the other door in the room. Leaving it, they entered the main floor of the warehouse.

“Which way out?” Shaw said.

“Left or right.” Root replied. “She can guide us either way.”

“Okay.” Shaw said. She turned to Gen. “Go left. Get out and take a cab home. We’ll meet you there.”

“What?” Gen turned to Shaw, startled.

“You’ve got homework.”

“Ah, come on!”

“Two assignments, due before you get back from break. You will be back at school in,” Shaw glanced at her watch, “30 hours and you haven’t even started. It shouldn’t take you long if you go home and do them.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You’re just saying that because we’ve got the entire Irish Mob after us. I started this, I should see it through!”

Shaw shook her head.

Gen frowned, then turned to the other woman in the room. “Root? Back me up on this?”

Root cocked her head, and turned to Shaw. “You know, sweetie, it won’t take long to finish this up. I’m sure she’ll be safe with us and she can do her homework afterwards.”

Shaw looked at Root. “Really? What happened to ‘one of us needs to be responsible’?”

Root pouted slightly, and Gen gave Shaw puppy eyes.

“Fine!” Shaw snapped. “But don’t blame me if you get shot, or don’t finish your homework in time.” She grabbed their number’s arm and began dragging him to the right. “Directions, Root.”

“Sure, sweetie.” Root smiled and happily trailed after Shaw.

Pete looked at the trio in bewilderment. “Who are you people?!?”

“Concerned third party?” Gen chirped.

“Huh?” He looked bewilderedly at Gen as Shaw and Root opened a door, cleared the hallway, and motioned them forward.

Gen took pity on the man and explained. “We help people who are in trouble.”

“What, is this your job?”

They walked down the hall behind Shaw and Root.

“Yup.” Gen said.

“You get paid for this.” Pete sounded skeptical.

“Not really.” Gen said. “I’m still in school. And training. So, I have an expense account, but no paycheck. Mr. Boss Man said he’d start paying me once I graduate high school and that I’ll get a full time salary once I have a college degree. Or some other form of education subject to his approval.”

The man looked over to Shaw and Root, who were efficiently rigging an explosive to a set of doors. “Do they get paid for this?”

“She does.” Gen pointed to Shaw, who waved them behind a corner. A large bang made Peter jump a little. As they stepped carefully through the door debris, Gen continued, gesturing at Root. “She doesn’t work for Mr. Boss Man, so she’s just here because we are.”

They both looked at Root, who was casually kneecapping their pursuers without looking. Gen added. “And for fun.”

The man looked stunned. “What kind of weird ass people are you?”

Gen was interrupted in her answer by Shaw’s command to call John and get the narcotics unit down there before Root blew something else up.

 

\----------

 

Gen toted her duffel into the living room. She’d made her bed, packed her clothes, and hidden her gun as best she could in preparation for unpacking at the dorms. She dumped the bag on the floor and flopped on the couch, waiting for the two women. As they were about to leave, a thought occurred to her. She casually tossed out a sentence. “You know you two are living together, right.”

“What?” Shaw said. Root just turned and stared at Gen.

Gen sighed. “You two are living together. Cohabitating. Sharing an apartment. In a domestic relationship.” Could she be any plainer?

Gen was met with blank looks.

She sighed. “Seriously? This is where you come back to after your trips. This is where you keep the things that are important to you. This is where you have surveillance and security up the wazoo. This is the where you spend time with each other. This is home for both of you.”

Root silently mouthed “home”, a stunned look on her face. Shaw stared for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess so. I’m okay with that. Root?”

Root jerked her head towards Shaw. “Yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Cool.” Shaw nodded and picked up Gen’s bag. “Come on kid, let’s get you back to school.”

 

\----------

 

“How was your vacation, Gen?” Ms. Cooper asked. “Did you have a good time with your family?”

Gen paused on the stairs, staring at Ms. Cooper. Slowly, a grin spread across her face. “I had a great time with my family.”

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts! Hit me up at keziahm.tumblr.com


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